M.C. Beaton: Death of a Charming Man

“Ach, get oot o’ my way, ye wee ferret, or I’ll murder you.”

There came the sound of a blow followed by a cry, and then the deafening crack of a slap and Nancy’s voice shouting shrilly, “Take that, bastard, and neffer lay the hand on me again.” Hamish half-rose in his seat. He hated “domestics,” as marital fights were called in the police. But he heard Jimmy clattering down the stairs and sat down again quickly. Jimmy came in, one cheek bright-red. He sat down and picked up his knife and fork, his calloused hands trembling. Then he threw them down and began to cry.

“There, now,” said Hamish, standing up and going round to put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “There, how.”

“I’ll kill that English bastard, that I will,” sobbed Jimmy. “He’s bringing grief tae us all. The women have all gone fair daft.”

“Is he doing anything to encourage the women?” asked ‘Hamish.

“Jist smiles and smiles, kisses them like a Frenchie, smarms all ower them.”

“I’ll maybe be haein’ a wee word with him,” said Hamish. He saw a whisky bottle on the kitchen counter and went over and poured a glassful. “Get that down ye.”

“Neffer had the drink in the hoose except at Hogmanay,” said Jimmy, “until this happened.” The kitchen door opened and Nancy stood there. Her figure had changed dramatically, due, thought Hamish, to some sort of rigid corseting. Her face was highly made up. Her eyes reflected a mixture of wariness and defiance.

“I’m off,” she said and slammed out.

Jimmy drank whisky and ate steadily. Finally he pushed his plate away and rolled and lit a cigarette. Hamish sniffed the air. It was some time since he himself had had a cigarette, but he suddenly had a craving for one.

“Where’s she gone?” he asked.

“One o’ three places. She goes tae Alice MacQueen’s tae get her hair done, or she goes tae that silly biddy Edie Aubrey’s exercise class, or she goes wi’ the others tae lean over the fence at Hynd’s and gawp at him like a lot o’ coos.”

“I think I’ll chust go over tae Peter Hynd’s and talk to him,” said Hamish. “Neffer mind, Jimmy. You know these incomers. They neffer stay long.”

Jimmy said nothing.

Hamish roused the now sleeping Towser and went off. He was beginning to feel very uneasy. As he approached the community hall, he could hear the sound of music. He stood on tiptoe and looked in one of the windows.

To the sound of the music from Saturday Night Fever, the women of Drim gyrated and sweated. Great bosoms bobbed and heaved, and massive backsides hung low over thick thighs.

In front of the class was a thin woman in glasses, as thin and flat-chested as her ‘pupils’ were fat and broad. But there was no sign of Nancy…

He walked on and made his way to Peter Hynd’s. Peter was down in the trench with his pickaxe. Above him stood Nancy with that awful dead-black hair of hers and her old–fashioned stiletto heels sinking into the earth. “Since you’re that busy, I’ll be off,” he heard Nancy say mournfully.

Peter leaped out of the trench. He smiled down at her with that blinding smile of his. “Come later,” he said, “when I’m not so busy.” And then he kissed her on both cheeks, very warmly, each kiss close to either side of the nose. Nancy stared up at him, doting, almost sagging in his arms.

“Fine day,” said Hamish in a loud voice.

Peter smiled. Nancy gave Hamish a look of pure loathing before tottering off.

“Is this a social call?” asked Peter.

“No,” said Hamish curtly.

Peter looked amused. “We’d best go inside, but don’t take too long. I’ve an awful lot to do.”

They went into the kitchen. “Coffee?” asked Peter, holding up a thermos flask. “No,” said Hamish with the Highlander’s innate dislike of taking any hospitality from someone he disliked, or, in the case of Peter, had come to dislike.

“So what brings you?” asked Peter, pouring himself a cup. “I haff come to ask you to leave the women of Drim alone.”

Peter looked at Hamish in amazement and then began to laugh.

“It is not the laughing matter,” said Hamish. “I like a quiet life and I do not want any trouble on my beat.”

“This is marvellous,” crowed Peter. “Are you expecting a crime of passion?”

“Aye, maybe. This is not the south of England. People here know very well how to hate, and hate deeply.”

For one moment, Peter seemed to lose years and looked almost like a sulky schoolboy being reprimanded by a teacher.

But he turned the full force of his charm on Hamish. “Look, I admit my presence here has gone a bit to the heads of the ladies. But have you seen their men? Believe me, in a few weeks, the novelty will wear off and they’ll no more notice me than one of their sheep.”

“They’ll lose interest all right chust so long as you do not continue to feed it,” Hamish went doggedly on, although Peter was beginning to make him feel silly.

“You’re worrying about nothing.”

“Chust try to be as friendly with the men as you are with the women.”

“Be reasonable. That’s a bit difficult. They didn’t want to know me from the beginning. All the offers of help came from the women.”

“Try. It’s a pity there isn’t a pub here.”

Peter grinned. “Oh, but there is.”

“Where?”

“At the back of Jock Kennedy’s after closing time. The minister frowns on all alcohol, and I would guess he’s about the only person in Drim who does not know of its existence.”

Hamish stood up. “Go carefully. The Highland temperament can be dangerous.”

He walked back down to the village. If Jock Kennedy was running a pub without a licence, then it was his job to put a stop to it. But as he looked around the darkness of Drim, he decided to leave it to another day. The men needed their comforts.

He climbed into the Land Rover and sat back and thought about Peter Hynd, and then decided that Jimmy Macleod’s distress had made him take the whole situation too seriously.

One of the men would pick a fight with Peter sooner or later and give him a nasty time of it and then the Englishman would leave.

He closed his eyes, planning to have about ten minutes nap before going back to Lochdubh, lulled by the beat, beat, beat of the music from the community hall. And then, just as his eyes were closing, he saw something that made him open them wide. Peter Hynd was strolling towards the community centre. Hamish slowly climbed down from the car and made his way to the hall and looked in the window just as Peter Hynd strolled inside.

What a fluttering and cackling and fuss! It was just, he thought gloomily, like watching a rooster strut into the farmyard among the hens. Edie Aubrey switched off the music and fluttered up to Peter, who kissed her warmly on the cheek. Hamish turned away in disgust.

Over Edie’s thin shoulder, Peter saw the policeman’s cap disappearing from sight. “Do you want to stay and watch my little class?” asked Edie.

Peter turned and smiled at all the women. The door opened and Nancy Macleod came in, her eyes flashing this way and that. “No, I had better get onwith my work,” he said. “I was just passing and thought I’d drop in to say hello. That’s a new outfit, isn’t it, Edie? Pink suits you.”

Edie smiled at him mistily, feeling the money spent in Strathbane at the sports shop had been worth every penny. When he looked at her like that, she felt like Jane Fonda. Peter made his way to the door, a hug here, a kiss there, ending up with Nancy. “I’ve kissed you already,” he teased and slid past her to the door. Nancy stared after him with a lost look in her eyes.

Peter went back to his cottage highly pleased. He was glad Hamish had seen him. But Hamish needed to be punished. He flicked through the Highlands and Islands Telephone Directory until he found the Tommel Castle Hotel. He began to dial the number.